


Malala The First

by fanfictionvshomework



Category: Booksmart (2019)
Genre: Best Friends, Female Friendships matter, Headcanon, i love these two, sorry I can't write dialogue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-05-02 01:53:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19189513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanfictionvshomework/pseuds/fanfictionvshomework
Summary: Just a little headcanon of how the girls came up with their infamous Malala phrase and the emotional meaning behind it. A little hint at Amy's coming out (but not a lot because their friendship is what matters).





	Malala The First

English class was not kicking Amy’s butt. Decidedly, she was kicking the English class’ butt because that was what Amy did. Except for this one project. Technically, presentations were Amy’s strong point. She adored all the research and sifting through data and power point presentation and practices, but this time she was well and truly stumped. You see, Amy was used to having the strictest of guides to follow and was equally used to her teachers sighing at her first mention of ‘intersectional feminism’. This time was different. She had been given undiluted freedom to pick whoever inspired her the most. And that was the tricky part. Honestly, she just couldn’t chose. So, of course, she put the question to Molly.

“Hey, Molly! Molly! Fucking hell Molly, listen to me!” she screamed down at her best friend who was deeply absorbed in whatever TED Talk she was watching. “Excuse me! Manners wouldn’t cost you a dime!” Molly retorted, but still carefully removed her headphones and flipped over so she was lying on her back. This was the position the two girls had gotten most comfortable in. Amy, at the top of her bunk bed and Molly at the bottom, throwing witty and snarky comments around like they were nothing. “I have this presentation for English class and I just don’t know what to do. Help me please? It’s on my inspiration.” Amy begged, pulling her annoyingly sweet puppy face that Molly just could not resist.   
Non-verbal communication was their forte; all Molly had to do was yank herself up the ladder, so she was sitting next to Amy, facing opposite her partner in crime with open eyes; “Interesting. When’s it due? What’s the mark out of? Do you have a specific set of questions? Can I borrow your laptop?” Without even waiting for an answer, Molly grabbed the MacBook and started tapping away. She was clearly in the zone. Eyebrows furrowed, short sharp breaths, incoherent mumbling. What must have been five minutes later, she flipped the screen around to show Amy her masterpiece. A colour coded word document filled to the brim with hyperlinks and tables. “What do you think?”

“I think that’s a personal best.” Amy snarked, hiding how impressed she was very poorly. The screen was covered in women of all ages, races, centuries even. It was impressive the amount of research Molly could do if you gave her a bit of time. “What are we thinking? And where shall we start? What about Michelle Obama,” Molly stated, making prayer hands, “the almighty saviour?” Amy shook her head. 

Michelle Obama was far too obvious. The slackers in her class could shove the First Lady’s name into Wikipedia and come up with the most blatant points in seconds. And Amy was anything but basic. “I’m not really feeling it, y’know? I mean, don’t get me wrong, she is definitely an inspirational woman, but also do I want to be one of the ten people who pick her? Heck no.” Molly nodded, deep in thought. She grasped the laptop back and started tapping at the keys again, only to produce another picture almost instantly.  
“Ruth Bader Ginsberg. You can’t say no to her.” Amy felt so bad, with that polished smile staring back at her through the screen. It was a perfect choice, except for the fact that she had literally talked about this fantastic lawyer in every single class since the beginning of the semester. Literally. She had even been banned from muttering the poor woman’s name in her English class (there was a Ruth swear jar made especially for her that she did not intend to fill). 

“Molly, you know I love Ruth, god bless her soul,” she said, both girls looking at the Ruth Bader Ginsberg shrine on Amy’s wall, hand on heart, “But there is no fucking way I’m going to fill Miss Marsh’s jar.” Amy commented, flipping a pen in-between her fingers absentmindedly. 

She began staring at her walls; a splatter of what the love child of the public library and the women’s march would look like. Surely there must be some inspiration here, right? Florence Nightingale, Hillary Clinton, Marie Curie, Rosa Parks, Emma Watson, Billie Jean King, Malala. Wait a second… Malala? A chance for her to both educate and intrigue her peers. Someone relatively well-known, but not famous enough so that anyone in her class would pick her. Perfect! “Molly stop what you’re doing, I’ve got it! I’ve only gone and become the next Albert Einstein.” Amy screeched as she jumped up and down on her bed (as much as she could without hitting her head).

Molly looked vaguely disinterested, probably because she failed to come up with a good idea. She followed Amy’s gaze to the Malala poster on the wall. “Ames, you genius. Give me a second…” 

And off she was again, scouting across the web, soaring, until her daydreams came crashing to a halt as Amy grabbed her laptop. “Selfish. Let me do my own homework for once,” Amy joked, sending the girls into a fit of giggles. “I can’t believe the incredible stuff she’s done. I mean, I don’t think I’d get shot in the head sticking up for school. Don’t get me wrong, I like it and all, just some people wouldn’t deserve it. She’s so cool.” 

Molly was listening intently. Any chance she had to learn about someone who had won a Nobel Peace Prize, especially a young woman. She could only imagine the courage it took. Molly wished she could be able to stand up like that, do something. Malala made it all look so easy. “Amy-cakes, you know how we have our dictionary of influential women, how would you feel if I added a new entry? Malala; if one of us calls it we have to do whatever the other wants, no questions asked, no whinging. Yeah?” Amy nodded enthusiastically.  
“And we only get one a year, right? We have to be careful it doesn’t happen too much,” Amy replied, already planning the rules. “Deal?” she asked Molly, holding her hand out to carry out their over-complicated but impressive handshake. 

“Deal.”  
Two months later, Amy needed to call the first Malala. She’d known that she was gay for a little while now, and it absolutely killed her not being able to say anything to her best friend, but she has needed to make sure that she was completely out to herself first. Pride was coming up and Amy wanted to go more than anything. They two of them had been before as supporters, but they had made no plans to organise it this year. Amy knew it was the perfect time to come out (as much as she despised that phrase). So, sat on her bed like before, she called out to Molly, who was reading The Price of Salt, ironically, “Molly I’m calling Malala. We’re going to Pride.”  
Molly looked up, “Of course I’ll go. You didn’t need to call Malala for that. I know we had that pottery class planned but we can always rebook – “Before she could finish her sentence, Amy threw herself down the ladder and sat down opposite Molly, looking directly into her eyes.

“Mol you don’t get it. I want to go to pride because, well, here’s the thing,” Molly stammered, pinching her forehead, eyes shut. Why was it so hard? Molly was obviously going to be okay with it. “I’m a lesbian.” She opened her eyes to see Molly grinning at her with here arms open wide ready for a hug.

“I love you Amy, okay? Absolutely nothing can take that away.”

And so, the two best friends hugged it out, like nothing had changed. Because it hadn’t.

**Author's Note:**

> yikes. I don't normally do fiction writing so sorry for that, and sorry if there's any mistakes. any feedback means the world for me (and sorry if it's a tad short). Also I'm British so I tried my hardest to sound American, which is apparently a lot harder than you'd think.


End file.
